


the way our hearts ebb and flow

by Anonymous



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Isolation, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 22:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16773730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Renjun’s sick.





	the way our hearts ebb and flow

**Author's Note:**

> this is a ventfic i am 100% not saying these people are like this in real life or have any of the mental illnesses here 
> 
> **this is NOT a ‘love makes you better haha/love will heal you’ fic fuck that shit so hard and fuck anyone that writes that shit**
> 
> tags and warnings will remain the same for the most part and will be updated depending

Renjun’s sick.

He’s been sick for a while now. It’s the kind of sickness that goes unnoticed at first. It creeps up slowly; he brushes away all of the symptoms, hiding them under the guise that “it’s alright” and “everyone gets anxious sometimes”, but before he knows it, he’s drowning. What he thought was an inch of water was actually a tidal wave and though he thought he could swim, he’d never been prepared for this.

The anxiety comes and goes; the sickness ebbs and flows. Some days are better than others. Some days he thinks that he can do it, that he must have made all of it up, because if he’s this happy, then he can’t be sick, right? If he’s this happy today, then tomorrow will be alright. But then tomorrow comes around and he doesn’t want to get out of bed because when he tries his knees buckle and his arms shake and his heart beats so hard and fast that he thinks it may shatter his ribcage.

When it comes, he doesn’t eat, and that just makes it all the more worse. But how can he eat when he feels so nauseous all the time? How can he eat when there’s a weight in his stomach and all he can think about is how he’d rather be asleep, how he’d rather be anybody else but himself.

The days where he doesn’t eat are the worse because those are the days that people notice that there’s something wrong. Normally, Renjun can hide it: he’ll duck into a bathroom to control his breathing when it gets too painful or he’ll cry silent tears in the darkness. But Renjun can’t hide when he doesn’t eat. This isn’t a cliched highschool romcom; he can’t duck into a bathroom and munch on a sandwhich there, away from prying eyes. He can’t eat in the darkness either, because though he can’t see, he can still feel the way his stomach twists and turns with knots and regret and guilt and every emotion under the sun.

The worst part is the way that they don’t say anything. Some sadistic, twisted part of Renjun wishes that they would say something. Anything. He wishes they would grab him by the shoulders and shake him until the weight in his stomach falls out, until whatever messed up wiring or loose clogs in his brain right themselves again. He wishes they would scream until he turns deaf. He wishes they would get angry. He wishes they would tell him everything he needs to hear. That he’s destroying himself. That he needs change. That he needs help.

But they don’t speak. It’s their eyes that speak for them.

It’s their body language. It’s the way that Donghyuck’s eyes, too full of soul to hide any emotion, flit between Renjun’s eyes and the upturn of his lips as though he sees every thread Renjun used to hold that smile together. Donghyuck sees right through him: he knows what’s true and what’s not, and it scares Renjun because he tries so hard to be brave, to pretend that he’s doing better than he is, because at least if he can pretend then he has something to work to. He has hope. But Donghyuck takes this hope, takes this goal, takes this fantasy and tears it to pieces. Donghyuck shows Renjun that needs to face himself. That he needs to be better. That he needs to do better.

It’s the way that Jaemin cooks more food than usual and fills Renjun’s plate to the brim. He pushes it towards him with a bright smile (Renjun can see the threads) and tells him to,

“Eat up. I made it especially for you, Injunnie,” and it’s on those days that though Renjun’s stomach screams at him and the food sits, heavier than the guilt and sadness, in stomach. It’s on those days that Renjun feels the worst because he has to try and trying is so tiring. It’s on those days that Renjun feels the worst because if he doesn’t eat then he’ll disappoint and he doesn’t want to disappoint. And the thought of disappointing makes the anxiety swirl in his chest again, weighing down heavier, cutting deeper, and it’s harder to breathe but he has to because if he can’t breathe then what can he do?

It’s the way that Jeno can’t look him in the eye. It’s on those days that Renjun wants the tides to wash him away, to just take him, to just drag him down and hide him from the world. Sweet Jeno with a heart of gold and a soul of light, who can’t even look at Renjun, because, what, he’s scared? Because he doesn’t know how to act? He treats Renjun as if he’s glass, as if he’s mist, and even so much as a look or a word would shatter his very being. Renjun knows that he’s not glass or mist but around Jeno he feels like he is. Around Jeno he feels like he’s failed, because Jeno is his best friend, and best friends should know each other. And Renjun feels like Jeno doesn’t know him anymore, because if he did, then he’d know what to do or say. And it’s all Renjun’s fault. It’s his fault for changing. It’s him who brought the tides and the darkness and sewed those damned threads.

Everything comes back to Renjun, in the end, and he doesn’t want his friends to drown either so he takes a step back. He runs. Because that will make everything better.

“Yeah,” Renjun tells himself. “That will make everything better.”


End file.
